


Lines of Communication

by Rensong



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rensong/pseuds/Rensong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place not long after the events of Judgment Day.  Neal misses home.  Peter just wants to know if he's alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines of Communication

**Author's Note:**

> Technically AU since I started it before I saw 4x01 - Wanted, though it still fits into cannon for the most part if you give me a bit of wiggle room.

The first one is a postcard. It arrives a week and a half after Neal’s promising future was crushed beneath the too-long reach of Peter’s one-time mentor, not unlike Libra crushing the Scorpion snapping at her heels across the night sky.

On the front is the rolling hills of Columbia; the postmark says Paris. The back is empty except for his name, address, and four words written in a touristy flourish – “Wish you were here.”

…

The second time is a small painting, hidden among the folds of Burke Event’s most recent credit summary.

On one side is a spectacular sunset, vibrant shades of orange, red, purple, and pink rippling through the sky behind the familiar silhouette of Big Ben and the London skyline; on the other, a subdued sunrise as seen from June’s balcony.

For all the riot of color staining the sky behind Big Ben, it’s New York’s blocky skyline that boasts the meticulous care and attention to detail, the sunrise reflected perfectly in every window.

…

 _Tell me you’re okay_ , he writes, leaving the note folded beneath a stone on the sandy platform that used to be Moz’s zen garden.

Four nights later, when he and El visit one of their favorite restaurants for dinner, the hostess hands him a small card marked with a silver Flur de Elise, saying that it had been left for him the day before.

Inside, a poem by A. E. Housman, heart-wounded and yearning.

On the back, an achingly familiar scrawl.

 _I told you I never lied to you. I’m not going to start now._  
…

He runs into Sally at a coffee shop one day, and he can’t let the opportunity pass.

“Please,” he asks her, arms out at his side in supplication, willing her not to run. “Please, I just want to know he’s alright.”

She still runs. He lets her.

Two days later, he gets an email from an unknown sender, subject listed only as “V.” Inside are several forum links, each followed by a different username and password.

 _Thank you_ , he replies, and he isn’t the least bit surprised when the message bounces back, Mailer-Daemon proclaiming that the account doesn’t exist. He hopes she gets it anyway.

…

 _We’ll fix this_ , he promises.

 _Some things can’t be fixed_ , he replies.

_When has that ever stopped us before?_

.

_I do miss the City._ He doesn’t say, _I miss you._

 _New York isn’t going anywhere_ , is the reply. It doesn’t say, _Neither are we._

.

They don’t say any of those things. They don’t have to.

.  
..  
...  
end  
...  
..  
.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem Neal sends Peter is 'Into my heart on air that kills' by A. E. Housman. You can find it here:  
> http://www.bartleby.com/123/40.html


End file.
